


Excavation

by BigBr0th3r1984



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s14e12 Prophet and Loss, Gen, My First Fanfic, Psychological Torture, Rescue, Suicidal Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 20:59:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17629589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigBr0th3r1984/pseuds/BigBr0th3r1984
Summary: Time has become pretty irrelevant at this point.  Michael sustained His body even when all he wants is to shrivel up.  Michael got control maybe 8 months in? 10? Smearing blood on the walls of the box to count days wasn't exactly accurate.





	Excavation

Time has become pretty irrelevant at this point. Michael sustained his body even when all he wants is to shrivel up. Michael got control maybe 8 months in? 10? Smearing blood on the walls of the box to count days wasn't exactly accurate.

After that it was a blur, Michael switching back and forth between pounding the box and yelling at his Father, and turning inward on Dean. Digging in his mind, through all the memories. Starting with the worst. Hell. Sam dying. Mom. His failures. Reliving everything took a long time. Then Michael went for the good memories. Corrupting them. Twisting them so previously beautiful images turned to blood and mayhem, where he couldn't save anyone.

Has it been years yet? Decades? Dean's cries of "please" and "stop" had slowly changed to a mantra of "how long?"

Knowing how long would be his rock. His redemption. Something to frame the torture in so it made sense. Michael only ever laughed.

Finally when Michael was bored with Dean's mind he got creative. Bringing Dean's awareness back to the box. Back to the coffin. Sometimes he would be allowed to move and claw and kick, other times he just had to stare and sob. Hoping for any clue during these times Dean would glance around the box for signs of rust. Barnacles. Anything. Wracking his brain on how long things take to weather.

At last Michael went into his own fantasy. Leaving Dean alone within himself and the box for...hours? Minutes? Decades? Content that the loneliness is torture enough for his vessel.

 

Dean came to himself. Alone again. He'd learned over however long it had been to temper his initial panic when he woke up. Even when he knew it would inevitably come back later. Even when left alone Dean didn't let his mind wander far. He knew it wouldn't do any good.

He could feel Michael swarming somewhere in his abdomen, angry but for now scheming an escape by himself. The relief of knowing it would never come was the only thing left to Dean. All the mistakes in his useless life he had done one thing right. He shut the box.

As Michael's consciousness move farther away Dean contemplated his own escape plan. Suicide. Smashing his head against the wall hadn't worked. The memory of Michael coming back and letting the blood flow while Dean watched still too close. Michael had let the blood rise until it filled the box, not letting Dean die but letting him drown in his own failure as the last of the air was replaced by the blood. The next time he'd woke up the blood was gone and he wondered if it was a hallucination or not. Noticing the brown stains on his clothes and hands confirmed it wasn't in his head but didn't do anything to reassure him. Leaving that thought alone as uselessly hopefull Dean began his routine.

He began counting. To 10 minutes then 30 then hours past that. At 18 hours 23 minutes and 19 seconds Dean heard something.

Keeping his emotions in check as to not notify Michael he strained to catch anything. The vestiges of an alertness he hadn't experienced in a long while somewhat coming back to him. A whirring noise. Dean hadn't heard anything other than Michael, and the occasional whale for however long that he couldn't identify it outright. Over the next 10 minutes he heard the whirring moving off to his right and eventually closer. Starting and stopping intermittently it finally came to Dean. Machinery. Dread pooled in his stomach.

The sound came closer until it stopped just above him. The sound of something smaller and quite breach the darkness next. Was that...a camera shutter? Then the whirring started up again and moved not to the sides but straight up until Dean was left in silence again except for his own ragid breath. Which he realized he's been holding for too long.

The next few hours dragged on, Dean being too anxious to even count at this point. Hearing the whirring to his left this time Dean turned his head, wide eyed.

"You fucking promised me Sam, you fucking promised me you wouldn't come back". The whine escaped under his breath and Dean hoped Michael was too distracted to hear. Whatever machine was off to his left stayed motionless. Occasionally making noise, Dean assumed to not drift in the current. Then there was a thud to his right and the sound of a chain pooling momentarily before stopping.

"Oh shit...oh shit oh shit oh shit fuck"

This can't be happening. Sam fucking promised.

Rage at this betrayal but also an explosion of "Oh God thank you" bloomed. He couldn't help feeling the relief even knowing that this was the end of the world. Because it also meant it would be the end of him.

The whirring machine on the left, Dean guessed unmanned sub at this point, moved next to the chain and in some way began pulling the chain up to Dean's head. 

"I knew handles was a bad idea"

Metal on metal was unmistakable as Dean presumed a hook was placed under the handle on his box. The chain started to clink again until Dean felt his head rising off the ocean floor. It didn't keep going though. He jerked to a halt at what felt like a 30 degree angle and the sub moved around his head dragging something else while the chain held him in place. A net? More chains? Dean couldn't make it out but it made sense that the handle wouldn't be trustworthy anymore. The same process was repeated with the other end of the box, everything being secured above him and finally he felt a pull. Stalling after the initial jolt the tomb began to rise. Dean's hands flew to the side of the box stabilizing himself as best he could. Rising from the ocean floor Dean broke out into a hushed chant of,

"Please please please no please stop please please please." 

As he ascended towards the surface a thought occurred to him.   
What if Sam found another way? Sam wouldn't break this.   
He wouldn't risk the world. After everything. Maybe he's standing up there with some angel cuffs and a long buried ritual. Maybe God decided to drop back in and fix everything.   
Maybe...something. Dean steeled himself for the confrontation when the lid would open. Torn between yelling and pleading he hoped to heaven, hell, and back that Sam wasn't being reckless without a reason. And he waited.

With a sense Dean didn't completely understand or trust he began to feel the pressure ease. It seemed to go on forever but eventually he broke the surface. Taking a gasp despite him not being open to the air yet felt natural or delusional he couldn't decide. He felt himself swing then move again. Then lowered until he once again jolted against something solid. He could still feel a slight swaying so a boat then.

Footsteps sounded on either side of him. He could hear two muffled voices. Oh sweet Mary, Cas was here too.

The latches on the sides creaked as they opened but light didn't immediately flood in. Grunting. Ok the box must be a little rusted. The first voice moved off then came back. A clang on the side then more grunting. Crowbar? 

The light was blinding. He turned his head and flung his arms over his face. He heard a gasp. Then frantic cries and multiple people talking over each other. It was too much. The transition was too quick. He waited for Sam to grab him while his eyes adjusted but. Wait. That's not English.

Opening his eyes he saw two blonde haired guys in their thirties looking like they were about to pass out. More people scrambled on deck behind them.

Oh no. This can't be happening.

"Sam?" He tried but it came out choked. He tried again louder,

"Sam?!" The two men started again and froze. Turning his attention to them Dean asked,

"What time is it?" He could feel the beginnings of a panic attack coming. When he didn't get an answer back he tried again trying to make eye contact but having to pull his eyes away a second later.

"What time is it?"

That seemed to have broken the spell. One of the men stuttered,

"T-t-t-ime?" In a heavy accent. Dean nodded. Hopefully that's still universal. The man looked up seeming to think hard.

"Ah...fear?". What? Dean's thought we're racing.

"No don't be scared! What. Time. Is. It."

The man waved his hands in frustration while everyone behind him just gawked.

"Nien, Nien" pointing to the sky he said "feor" 

Dean blinked. Oh ok German then. Something about their accent still wasn't familiar but he pushed it aside. He glanced up and pointed himself,

"Four?" 

The German cut him off with a frantic "da! Yas! Da! Feor!"

Ok afternoon then. Dean paused struggling to form his next question in what little German vocab he knew. Sam was always better at this. German was close to English right?

"Um ok...year? Yar? Jahr? 

The man looked at him weird like he hadn't said it just right but seemed to be trying to form a response...

"Ah...zweiunddreißig fünfundsiebzig?" Realizing his mistake he turned to his companion who whispered back "liste sie auf!" "eins zwei drei..."

Dean cut in with "yes yes da!" When he recognized the numbers. He at least knew 1-10

The first man held up 4 fingers then pointing to each in succession said,

"Tree, tu, seben, five"

 

Holy fuck. 3275? Sam was dead. Everyone he knew was dead. Maybe Cas and Jack were still around but who knew where they were. Why didn't Michael tell me?!! He couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

Then in the back of his mind he heard

"Deeeaannnnnn" whispered out and then a quiet chuckle. "I gave you a few minutes. Just so you know how badly you failed. Again."

Oh God. Michael. Dean hadn't been paying attention. Michael had been watching while he struggled to come up with anything else. And now the world is going to burn.

Dean glanced up at the men, who were looking at him with concern after he had fallen silent. Dean made a mad dash to grab the lid and close it but before he even gripped to metal his world went black.

 

The Marine archeologists watched as this man..thing..who had no business being alive, jerked his hand back against his chest. They saw a flash of blue light in the man's eyes. Then a small smirk.

And the world burned.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry. I know I tagged Sam and Cas but I didn't want to spoil it before the end!


End file.
